Secret Agent Man Part II
by TaylorGibbs
Summary: Tony goes undercover at a strip club, with Gibbs watching. Will they be able to keep their minds on the job? Gibbs/DiNozzo pairing. Sequel to Tinlizzie82's Secret Agent Man, which can be found on the Gibbs/DiNozzo Livejournal community.


This is an authorized Sequel to Tinlizzie82's Secret Agent Man, which can be found here:

http:/ community. livejournal. com/ gibbs_dinozzo / 670827 .html It is an amazing story, and you really need to read it to understand the nuances of this sequel. Thanks so much to Tinlizzie82 for letting me play in her sandbox!

When Tony had walked out on stage, Gibbs' fists had clenched so hard his blunt nails had bitten into his palms. He'd warned Tony against just this, but had DiNozzo listened? Hell, no. DiNozzo was, as always, a cowboy. Or, Gibbs silently amended, as Tony pulled out a gun shaped like a dick, a jokester. There was no way DiNozzo could pull this off, but Gibbs wasn't really concerned. Not yet. What Tony didn't have in moves, he could make up for in charm and that damned winning smile that had women—and men—looking his way.

Gibbs set his jaw as the James Bond theme faded away, leaving Tony there in that pose everyone from eight to eighty knew. Setting his teeth together tighter, Gibbs tried to will away the memories of a young boy from Stillwater wanting to be James Bond—Sean Connery cool as a little boy, Roger Moore suave and wry when Gibbs was a gangly teen.

Some song Gibbs didn't know started blaring through the speakers, and he could only watch in surprise as Tony crawled across to the front of the stage. DiNozzo was an amateur, but he sure as hell didn't show it, his body moving with the beat. Gibbs didn't want to watch. He knew he had to scan the crowd for more intel, but there was no way he could wrench his gaze away. Not yet. Not when Tony was crawling on the stage, moving closer.

Gibbs could only watch as Tony pulled his jacket off, moving like he'd done this a thousand times before. And then, when he came to his knees and tore his shirt off, Gibbs could hear the reaction of the crowd, the appreciative sounds—and even a few groans.

Something primal rose up inside him and he fought the urge to say "mine", to fight for his man. His man? What the hell was he thinking? DiNozzo was his 2ic, his senior field agent. There was nothing more between them. But Gibbs couldn't forget his muttered comment about Tony dancing for him. And he couldn't deny his cock hardening, thrusting against his boxers and his pants. There was a reason why he wore his work pants baggy, and it wasn't just so they didn't get in his way when he was chasing down a suspect.

Gibbs couldn't help eying Tony's oiled chest, the nipples hard, the abs lightly dusted with hair. Unlike the other dancers, Tony wasn't shaved smooth. He had a man's chest, a man's body. Gibbs knew if he moved closer, he'd see the small ridges of scar tissue, memories of cases past, memories of times when he could have lost DiNozzo permanently.

Gibbs watched Tony moving against the pole, his hips jutting outward. Gibbs couldn't help slicking his tongue over his lips, his own hips jerking slightly as Tony thrust. Gibbs watched Tony move, knowing DiNozzo couldn't have any idea how he had the audience in the palm of his hand. Gibbs blindly reached for the water he'd ordered, gulping it down as Tony removed the shirt completely, sliding it over the pole.

Then DiNozzo went into a pose that made Gibbs think of the handcuffs and whips he had at home, items still in their packaging that he hadn't used on anyone. He hadn't practiced since Stephanie—and never with a man—but when Tony took that submissive pose, Gibbs knew he was gone. He was gonna have DiNozzo, any way he could. Preferably with hands behind his back and eyes locked on the ground.

"Fuck," Gibbs muttered, patting his pocket for his notebook. He knew it was there, in his pants pocket, but touching there allowed him to give his cock a warning squeeze, or maybe it was a squeeze of promise. Hell if Gibbs knew any more. His head was reeling, every sense trained on Tony.

As DiNozzo wrapped the shirt tighter and tighter around the pole and started to grind against it, Gibbs ran his hands over his pants trying to hide clenched fists—and his erection, he hoped—from anyone who looked. He knew he had to channel his anger instead, let sexual tension blend into that for now, so he wouldn't embarrass himself in front of this crowd. But Tony was dancing so damned close. He hated having a front-row seat to this. At least from the angles, DiNozzo probably couldn't see how hard Gibbs was.

Tony started to move the pants down his body, exposing an impressive erection under the black underwear. Gibbs wanted to kill the other men for checking his man—his agent—out. He was aware of the interest, even though he refused to tear his eyes away from the spectacle of Tony fucking the pole, or thin air.

And when Tony was finally done, chest heaving and body drenched in sweat, his hand extended to Gibbs' all Gibbs could think to do was clench his hand around Tony's bow tie, pulling him closer. DiNozzo was breathing hard, the little puffs of his breath washing over Gibbs' face, his pupils blown. Tony had enjoyed the hell out of this.

"Get off the stage, DiNozzo," he growled softly.

Gibbs could only watch as Tony's eyes narrowed a little bit, his expression falling. Gibbs felt like a bastard for doing it, but he had to regain some power in this exchange and this was the best way he knew how.

"Sorry, boss," Tony replied in barely more than a mutter, his voice quiet.

Gibbs couldn't help letting out his predatory streak. He shot Tony a look that he knew had to be animal and full of promise. "Oh, yes, you will be."

He reached into his pants pocket and withdrew a bill, stuffing it into Tony's jock. Gibbs wanted to drag his knuckles against the other man's cock, wanted to squeeze and stroke, but it was enough that he could smell the tang of Tony's sexual arousal and feel the heat the other man emanated. He was almost needy enough to kiss or fuck DiNozzo right here, and he let the other man go with a little shove, nudging him toward the backstage area.

As soon as Tony was out of sight, Gibbs strode to the bar, where the manager waited for him. "Put him on three nights a week. This routine. Until we get our break." Gibbs eyed the backstage area, but nobody was going in or out. Now that Tony was on the inside, they needed to step up their intel work.

The little weasel licked his lips, nodding enthusiastically. "Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday of this week. Your boy is good."

Gibbs nodded, leaning in close. "If any of your boys see anything suspicious, you call me."

Sid nodded, the bright lights shining off his balding head. The manager may have been a weasel, but he was helpful enough, explaining to Gibbs where the dancers met clients after hours and which dancers might have befriended Amasi. It'd take some time to break down the walls, but Gibbs was confident that they had a good start here. He sipped an offered water and fell silent, the manager busying himself at the bar.

He watched as Tony exited the backstage area, the street clothes looking somehow wrong on him after the tuxedo. 

"DiMarco," Sid greeted, putting his hand out for the garment bag draped over DiNozzo's shoulder. "Lemme get that dry cleaned for you. It'll be waiting for you tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow?" Tony's eyes widened.

Gibbs nodded. "Didn't get everything we needed."

"Oh," Tony looked serious for a moment, running his hand through his damp hair. "Thanks, Sid."

"Don't thank me. It's coming out of your tips."

Gibbs strode out of the club and to his truck, Tony trailing after him. He knew DiNozzo had a lot of questions about the investigation—and probably reassurances about his performance, but Gibbs stayed silent until he'd pulled out of the parking lot and was on the way home.

"Hungry?" he asked. Tony's head shot up and he nodded. It was clear DiNozzo'd been in another place. It wasn't surprising; Tony usually sank into his thoughts after being undercover for more than a few minites.

"Yeah, Boss. But..."

"But what? We need to compare notes. Might as well do it over a burger or some Chinese."

Tony shrugged. "Yeah, that sounds good." He turned, giving Gibbs his best charming grin. "Worked up a hunger there, Boss."

"Not the only thing worked up," Gibbs muttered. The cab of the truck was filled with Tony's scent—freshly showered, tangy, masculine soap, and some kind of expensive shampoo. The nearness of Tony right now was stifling Gibbs and he tore into the parking lot of a chain restaurant, slamming the car to a stop. 

"Boss?" Tony asked, clearly confused.

"Hungry," Gibbs retorted, pointing to the building. He got out and strode toward the restaurant, knowing DiNozzo would follow. As soon as they were seated in a booth, drinks ordered, Gibbs studied Tony's expression. He looked far too open, vulnerable, off kilter, and Gibbs knew he'd caused a lot of that reaction. Unable to reassure Tony yet, he opened up a menu, studying the items. He needed this break to calm himself down, to beat the raging testosterone storm threatening to rear up again.

Once his coffee and Tony's beer were delivered, Gibbs pulled out his notebook. He knew he was hiding behind work, but he was feeling so damn desperate right now, and it was the only way he could get his balance back, short of hurting Tony even more.

"Did you see anything suspicious?" Gibbs asked, paging to a blank sheet of paper.

Tony chewed on a piece of bread, nodding slowly. "Maybe, maybe not, Boss. A couple of the dancers went down.

When Gibbs arched a brow, Tony stumbled onward. "Not that way, Boss," he said, his face coloring slightly. "They had some bad Chinese or something. That was why I danced."

Gibbs didn't answer, just let Tony continue. "There's been a couple of guys sick every week, and that doesn't seem right. Boss, these are healthy, young guys. Bad Chinese, bad Indian, colds, flu, stomach cramps."

"You see anyone who didn't belong back there?" Gibbs replied, concentrating. The team had been bouncing around various theories focused on their victim, but Gibbs was starting to wonder if Amasi wasn't in the wrong place at the wrong time. And if Tony wasn't in danger just by posing as a dancer.

"All the dancers, a few greasy guys who could have been managers. Maybe a boyfriend or two." Tony shrugged, tearing into another piece of bread. "New guy, Boss. Gonna take me a couple of visits to scope everything out."

"I know," Gibbs allowed, staring at the table. He knew he had to add something and looked up, meeting Tony's eyes. "Good work, DiNozzo."

"Thanks, Boss." Red stained Tony's cheeks and Gibbs realized he'd hardly ever seen the other man blush.

Dinner passed in near silence, only broken as Gibbs and Tony batted around theories and compared notes from the evening. Tony explained the camaraderie behind the scenes and Gibbs took notes, sharing impressions of the patrons and giving Tony descriptions of the ones that had made his gut twinge. With this easy rapport, Gibbs could almost forget how sexually charged things had been at the club.

Almost.

The memory of Tony writhing on the stage kept invading his thoughts, the memory of those pelvic thrusts, the oiled and hairy chest, the erection Gibbs had nearly touched, and most of all, the submissive pose Tony had taken, kept firing up Gibbs' blood. And as the meal filled his stomach and the coffee soothed his nerves, his guard began to slip.

Watching Tony lick the fork after the last bite of cheesecake was a sensual experience, and Gibbs groaned, his pants tightening around his suddenly hard cock. Tony lifted his head and breathed deeply, his pupils widening and nostrils flaring, though he didn't say a word. In moments, a richer tang wafted toward Gibbs, the same scent that had drenched Tony on that dance floor. DiNozzo was getting turned on as well.

When Gibbs opened his wallet to pay for dinner on his NCIS issued card, Tony shook his head, slapping the hundred down on the leather folder and giving Gibbs a challenging look. Gibbs only raised a shoulder, accepting this gesture. If this was what DiNozzo needed, he wasn't going to say no.

"Your place or mine," Gibbs said, his voice low and husky. He knew DiNozzo could dance around this for months, and Gibbs wasn't interested in drawing out the game. Eight years they'd flirted and teased one another. It was gonna end tonight.


End file.
